Natasha, What is Wrong With You?
by Ignite The Spark
Summary: A one shot of what Natasha does while all the other Avengers are out having fun. It's based off a roleplay I'm in, so some character names may look unfamiliar. There probably will be more to come!


The small little phone slid shut in her hand, light brows furrowing as Natasha let out a huff. Fine... Right. Tony was as fine as she was, and while she was doing her damndest not to let on to the others, that wasn't fine at all. Her right side was screaming in pain, sending little shocks of startling pressure all the way up her body and down her spine, lingering there until it spread out along every nerve, damn near making her wish she'd just curl up and go to sleep.

But that wasn't an option. No. She'd slept plenty last night, under the unfortunately watchful eye of one Mister Nick Fury. In a hospital... All night. Drugged. It was like none of them understood. None of them comprehended how much she hated those places, how much they reminded her of her past. Of the Red Room... Of that chair and those straps and the damned video... The scientists saying to relax over and over and over again. Of course none of them understood that, how could they?

Most of them, while having lived with a troubled past, had had a normal childhood. Save Thor, but he hardly counted. He was a demi-god for Christ's sake. But Cap, Tony, Alyssa, Candice, Bruce, Clint, Regina, Peter, Emma, and hell even Pepper since she'd magically squirmed her way into the initiaive... All of them had at least had the beginnings of a normal life. A childhood, parents who loved them, people to care. Whether the period was short lived or not, it was there. Natasha had never had any of that.

She'd never even attended school. Not one day in her life.

Unless you counted her combative training... No. That didn't count.

So she'd been alone. Literally everyday of her life... Alone. With no one but trainers and scientists and field agents, and liars to surround her. Up until about twenty years ago, she'd never even noticed the fact that there was something... strange about herself. Something startlingly different like the fact that she hadn't aged like she should. As of right now, in the history of any person's normal life span, she should be dead. Dust in the ground beneath the surface of a dirt filled grave. But here she was, alive and well and still with the appearance of a twenty-four year old... Because up until about twenty years ago, that was how strong of a hold they'd had... How well the KGB had controlled and contained her. Their own little weapon created and used when needed, then tucked neatly away when not.

Her entire life had been a lie. Every single moment of it. All of the memories she'd been falsely given, all of the warmth and love she thought she'd grown up with as a child... None of it. None of it was real, and none of it meant a damn thing.

And that... that was enough to drive her where she stood... Perched in the middle of her kitchen with a glass of pure scotch in her hand, staring heavily down into the glass as she held it before her.

How could they expect her to suddenly change that? To change her preconceived notions, to trust, to understand and accept that she was now part of a team? It didn't work like that. It just... didn't. She did things alone, she operated on her own. It was what she was good at, and her lack of trust in people had saved her life more times than she cared to count. So why change it, just because she was told to? No.

It was true that she owed Clint and Fury debts which she'd never be able to repay. Hell, now even Steve could be added to that list... Something she wasn't incredibly fond of. Natasha didn't do well with owing people. And one way or another, come hell or high water, the debts would be repaid. And then perhaps she could work on the red... the red that, as Loki had so eloquently pointed out, was gushing from her ledger.

This would be it. She'd finish this out, see that Tony was alright, repay her debts... Then she'd disappear. Go back on her own, to a place she was comfortable with. To a place that she knew and understood, where she only had to rely on herself and not others. Where if she lived or died would be of no consequence to anyone except for her... And frankly, that was something she didn't really care much about. Death was inevitable... And the longer time went on, the more she found herself accepting that.

Was it that she wanted to die? No. But she knew that it was inevitable... Especially in her line of work.

So she'd see this through to completion. She'd accomplish what was set before her, then she'd fade into the background and faze out... After all, she was only one agent. And they had a team dynamic that she knew she'd never fit... Because of all of them, her ties were the weakest. They always had been, if only for the fact that she simply couldn't grasp the idea of a group dynamic. So she'd fade... and one of the newer members could step up to take her place.

With that decided, the redhead nodded her head and brought the glass of Stark's scotch to her lips, downing it effortlessly before she slammed the glass on the counter, her hand shifting from it to the gun that'd been lying directly next to it... Her gun. The one she'd had with her for more years than she'd care to count. Because that... that was the only thing she could trust. With a pathetic sort of grin, and a groan from the painful protests of her body, she pulled the gun from the counter, slid it into place on her belt, and head for the front door. There was something she still needed to take care of...


End file.
